


The Proper Diagnosis

by Callisto



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Fever, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-15
Updated: 2011-04-15
Packaged: 2017-10-18 03:04:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/184309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callisto/pseuds/Callisto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“I told you a zillion times, I’m-” he hitched in a breath, but got the cough under control. Didn’t matter, he knew by the twitch of Jim’s jaw that he was getting scanned again. “–fine! Will you stop doing that?”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Proper Diagnosis

“Will you get off?"

“I am nowhere near you, Chief.” Which was true. Jim was on the sofa with the sports section, while Blair was awash in inarticulation at the kitchen table. He was grading overdue Freshman papers, and in no mood for verbal evasions as well as written ones.

Blair pushed up his glasses to glare, unconvinced by the eyebrow being raised at him over a curled down corner of the Sunday paper.

“Yeah, like you need to be over here to be on me. Just focus everything that away, big guy.” He waved his hand vaguely at the televison, where an old guy in waders was extolling the virtues of fly-fishing. “I told you a zillion times, I’m-” he hitched in a breath, but got the cough under control. Didn’t matter, he knew by the twitch of Jim’s jaw that he was getting scanned again. “–fine! Will you stop doing that?” He hadn’t meant to sound so loud, partly because his head hurt. And partly because it was Jim being Jim. Even if it was Jim to the power ten these days.

Ever since the fountain and two bouts of bronchitis in as many months, Blair had had what he jokingly called ‘Skittish Jim’ on his hands. He had only said it once, though. Jim’s face had tightened to the point of pain on that one. Which didn’t help when Blair was so far behind on things he couldn’t see straight, and when he had neither the time nor the energy to waste on getting pissed at his partner. Jim was pissed at himself enough for both of them most of the time anyway.

A mutter and snap of the paper told him he was finally being ignored. Blair pushed his glasses back up, clenched his own jaw in perfect imitation, and set to work...

...only to come to an indeterminate time later with a warm hand on his neck and a mug thunking quietly onto a coaster beside him.

“Drink this. And stop sleeping on your goddamn papers.”

It took a moment. His throat was scratchy, the dream had been a running-through-molasses one and, good grief, he had even drooled on his sleeve.

“Thanks,” he croaked.

But Jim was gone, back to the sofa and the start of the football.

Blair sat up slowly and rolled his neck. He wrapped his hands around the mug, leaned over, and breathed in blackberry leaves, honey, a clove or two and some fennel. His eyes watered from the steam, from a touch of fever, but mostly from the fact that he’d been monitored and prescribed to perfectly yet again by the man not watching him from the sofa.

He opened his mouth to apologize. And at that moment Jim flicked a glance his way.

Enough.

Padding over to the sofa, he put the mug down carefully on another coaster and settled next to Jim, who had his long legs stretched out and his face turned resolutely toward the television. Blair watched that handsome profile a moment, counted his blessings, then turned his face into Jim’s neck and kissed him damply. Jim’s neck was beautifully cool on Blair’s forehead and he closed his eyes and pressed in. Jim kept his eyes fixed on the game, but his arm came down off the sofa to rest on Blair's shoulders, so Blair figured he was probably forgiven. He tipped his head back a fraction to make sure.

“Gonna tell me what my temperature is?”

Jim didn’t look down, but his voice had a smile in it.

“No.”

“Atta boy.”

The next time Blair came to, he felt better. Probably because he was wrapped in both a comforter and a sentinel.

******


End file.
